


Not a Drop to Drink

by yuma (yuma_writes)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Nogitsune Trauma, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuma_writes/pseuds/yuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thinks he found a solution after they defeated the Nogitsune. Takes place between the montage and Derek's dream in "Divine Move."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Drop to Drink

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: third season events, mentions canonical character death
> 
> Warning: not betaed, beware of possible dangling modifiers, misplaced prepositions and incorrect verb tenses. Do not run with scissors.

Before the water bottle reached his mouth; it was tugged out of his hands.

"Hey!" Stiles stared at his wiggling fingers where a bottle shaped space should be.

Stiles dragged a glare over to the thief in question. "Get your own." 

Unimpressed, Derek arched a dark eyebrow at Stiles. He pulled the bottle to his nose and— _ew_ —took a long sniff. That eyebrow now decided to join the other one to furrow over glowing eyes in some wolfy look of disapproval.

Stiles cast his eyes around the loft for help. Scott and Isaac weren't back from visiting Chris Argent to pay their respects to Alli—they weren't back yet. Neither was Lydia, who went with Ethan to see about Aid—she wasn't back yet either.

It was easier to be pissed off at Derek, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes and okay, they've all bonded over...stuff, but Stiles still expects Derek to slam him against a wall and growl and threat and just be all around grumpy, grouchy, growling Derek. Alpha or not.

Stiles almost wants that, though. He wanted someone who is not tiptoeing around Stiles like he was a grenade. Or Peter Hale. Yikes, that's a new low for Stiles, but yes, he was feeling like everybody was edging around him, orbiting just outside his system, waiting for him to supernova. 

Everybody's been too pod-people these days. Isaac even gave him a "Hi, how are you?" once and _offered him his cookie_. Lydia's been bringing over Stiles's missed schoolwork without him begging/pleading/bribing his gorgeous rival to valedictorian glory. Ethan's been following him around at school when he wasn't busy making kissy faces with Danny. And if Scott tries to ninja his way into a hug again, Stiles was going to tell Kira all about the orange Gatorade and stuffed monkey incident of '07 even if it may or may not have really been Stiles' fault. Maybe. Probably.

"You've been drinking out of this a lot." Derek shook the dented water bottle that survived two camping trips, five Lacrosse practices and a wolfed out Scott accidentally crushing it during a Stephen King marathon. Scott never forgave Stiles for showing him _It_. 

Clowns. Enough said.

"I like to stay hydrated," Stiles tried to say breezily, but it came out high-pitched in his ears. His fingers tapped on the table. Deaton had advised scaling back on his Adderall, but the fuzzy, jittery, spinning feeling twisting in his throat tempted him to go back to his dosage anyway. But Deaton said it was like mixing scotch with gasoline. Which translated to ouch.

Stiles's knee bounced and struck the bottom of the table he commandeered to do homework. Because centuries old fox demons knew shit about World War II history. And calculus. And maintaining chemistry lab books. Damn it.

"Any more hydrated and you'll be able to float to school instead of Scott driving you."

Stiles glowered because that was a dick thing for Derek to say. Forget about being glad Derek was still Derek. Stiles couldn't drive his jeep because Isaac narced to Papa Argent about Stiles passing out after they had killed his evil twin. Then who knew? Hunters apparently liked to gossip because he told Scott's mom when he bumped into her in Wegman's cereal aisle during their double coupon day. For some reason, it threw Stiles for a loop because he always thought hunters like, grew their food or something out of their combat boots. 

Then, Melissa told his _dad_. 

Crap.

Bad enough his dad still looked like he wanted to jam a cupcake or a steak down Stiles' throat every time he sat down with him for dinner. Thanks to the Supernatural Cereal Conference, now dad was also worried Stiles was going to randomly pass out behind the wheel. So he confiscated the keys to the jeep (Took. His. Keys!) and Scott drove Stiles to school in his mom's car the past week.

Derek shook Stiles's water bottle, one ear canted towards it. Maybe sloshing water was catnip for disgruntled werewolves.

"If you're thirsty, you do have a working sink now," Stiles reminded Derek. "We all got together and fixed your indoor plumping, remember? We were tired of getting lead poisoning." He flapped a hand towards his water bottle. 

The water bottle was lifted higher, out of reach, because werewolves were secretly five and not above cheating. Stiles got up from his seat, but Derek took a step back. His gaze fixed on Stiles, he tipped the bottle. Before Stiles could lunge for it, the water trickled out.

"What did you do that for?"

Derek pursed his lips. He managed to look intimidating even though he didn't wolf out as he poured out the rest of the water. Done, he shook the emptied bottle. His eyebrows rose at the faint rattling inside.

"It's that flavored water stuff," Stiles offered weakly. "That low calorie thing all the kids do these days?" He gestured towards his body. "Too many curly fries."

Derek didn't blink. "You're lying." After a beat, he added, "And holding your breath doesn't slow down your heartbeat."

Stiles exhaled in a whoosh. He scowled at Derek but as usual, it did nothing. He would have better luck with a wall. 

Expressionless, Derek shook the bottle harder until whatever was rattling inside fell out.

A tied bundle of twigs fell out. The leaves have long dissolved in the water.

They both looked at the herbs floating in the puddle of water.

"I thought you smelled different."

Stiles stiffened. His eyes drifted up to Derek. Derek's eyes flashed and even though they were no longer red, it was still freaky. 

"I changed deodorants." Stiles shrugged. When Derek's mouth pressed thin, he added, "Or you could be having a sinus problem. Do werewolves get hay—"

"Why are you drinking poison?" Derek demanded.

"I'm not!" Stiles snapped. "He said it was only poisonous in higher doses or mixed with—" Whoops. He clamped his mouth shut. 

"Deaton," Derek muttered darkly. He chucked the water bottle over his shoulder. It swooshed into Stiles' open backpack in a lazy arc. Show off.

Stiles dropped his eyes to the puddle of water. He watched the dried roots Deaton had helped order spin lazily in the shallow pool.

Derek's voice crumbled into a growl. "Why?"

The herbs floated to the edge of the puddle. Stiles nudged them with his foot so the bundle would bob quietly back to the center.

"I'm not trying to kill myself," Stiles said finally. 

"But you are taking poison." Derek breathed out slowly. "Scott and Isaac noticed you smelled different. They thought it might be because—"

"The nogistune left me a parting gift," Stiles said bitterly. "So they didn't want to ask." He couldn't stop staring as the herbs reached the other side. He prodded them with his sneaker again. The herbs languidly went back to the middle. If only it were that easy.

Stiles sighed and just like that, he felt exhausted, like maybe he could finally sleep. The problem was even if he didn't wake up every night with the names of the dead lodged in his throat; the potion made his heart hammer way too fast all day. But it was a small price, a tiny price, not even a blip in his wallet if there was some sort of budget for whatever cosmic universe thing that kept cashing in its checks against his life and...

Derek's boot came into view. It stepped firmly on the bundle, halting its trip to the edge again.

"I'm not trying to poison myself." Stiles's gaze broke away from the dried roots now pinned under Derek's foot. "I'm just trying to taint my blood." He shrugged. "You know. Dirty it up so nothing would want to move in again."

Derek said nothing.

"I..." Stiles's shoulders lifted up and dropped. It felt like the rest of his body wanted to follow. "It's preventive. Like taking vitamins. Think of it as vitamin C for the supernatural."

"Vitamins don't make you throw up every time you try to eat." At Stiles's look, Derek grunted. "I ran into your father at the market. He asked me if it was a post-possession symptom."

Stiles twitched at the p-word. He stilled. "Wait. The market?" He squinted at Derek. "Was it the cereal aisle?"

"What?"

"Never mind." Stiles gestured towards the water Derek stood on. "It's only because of the potency. I just gotta tweak it."

Derek scoffed. "With what? Scott and Isaac would have found the rest of it in your room by now."

" _What?_ " Stiles's head shot up. 

Derek's face darkened, which was a feat because Derek's default tended to be dark and gloomy. 

"You're not drinking this anymore."

It was as if he had already drunk a gallon of the potion because his heart was crashing against his ribs too fast to take in a breath. "You can't."

A quiet buzz came from the phone in Derek's pocket. "That's Scott telling me they burned all of it." Another buzz. "And that's Lydia telling me she tore up your copy of the recipe for it."

Stiles stared at Derek. He could hear his breathing pounding in his ears, louder and louder and soon, he knew it'll shrink to a buzzing that'll wrap around his chest. 

No, nono, nonono...

"You…you can't," Stiles said faintly.

"We already did." Derek's brow furrowed. "Stiles, sit down."

"W-what?" Stiles needed to call Deaton. They could get more. He'll need to double the dose to make up for lost time. Maybe he could chew it, get it into his blood faster. Maybe...

"Stiles, _sit down_."

A hand clamped around Stiles's elbow, guiding, maybe dragging, definitely dragging, him to the crappy couch that still smelled like rainwater and blood.

"Look at me." The hand on his elbow shook him. "Stiles. Look up."

Wheezing, Stiles blinked blearily at Derek. He curled a hand around Derek's wrist, so tight, he thought he could hear bones squeak, breaking, hurting.

Stiles snatched his hand back.

"Stiles," Derek said sharply. "Deep breaths." 

Derek seemed heedless of the danger as he crowded into Stiles's personal space, one hand shaking him by the elbow.

"Come on," Derek said, his voice dropping to a whisper for whatever reason.

"You can't do this," Stiles gasped. "I need it."

"You don't need to drink poison." Derek sounded so sure, but he didn't understand. None of them did.

Stiles shook his head. He let it drop into his hands. "No, no, no, I need to keep drinking it. It's the only way. The only way..."

"It's not going to happen again."

Stiles choked back a laugh he suspected would grow hysterical too quickly. "No, it won't if I keep drinking it."

"You keep drinking it; you'll die."

Stiles bit his lower lip. Hard.

Derek growled low in his throat. Stiles thought he caught a glimmer of blue out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you saying you don't trust your pack to stop this from happening again?"

"I don't trust _me_!" Stiles snapped, his head jerking up. He glared red-rimmed at Derek. "After everything, after every…everyone, do you want to take the chance?"

Derek studied Stiles although what he saw, Stiles was clueless. 

"Scott trusts you."

Stiles swallowed. "He shouldn't." He knuckled one eye. 

" _We_ trust you."

Stiles froze.

"Even if you can't trust yourself, we trust you." 

Stiles stared at his feet. He tapped his fingers on his left knee. Then his right.

"But what if—"

"It won't."

Stiles shot Derek a frown. "You didn't let me finish. There are a hundred different possibilities of how this might happen again."

"We'll stop it." Derek shrugged. "Or you will."

Stiles blinked.

The corner of Derek's mouth ticked up. "Your divine move."

Stiles snorted. He lowered his face into his hands again. In the darkness he created, he blinked wearily into it.

Derek fidgeted next to him. With an aborted sigh, he patted Stiles on the back.

Stiles could hear his breathing harsh in his ears. He sucked in a breath. Then, breathed out. It sounded ragged. It burned as much going in as it did going out. It felt like he was forcing something out. But it felt too large, crammed deep in his lungs, lodged between his ribs. He swallowed, his throat working painfully around a lump he tried to ignore since Lydia helped him out of the tunnels and they found Scott cradling Allis—Allison. Oh God, _Allison_. He did this. He drew them near. He lit the match to the gasoline and sent fire searing towards his friends—

A light tapping drew Stiles's attention; an even beat going up and down on his knee.

Next to Stiles, Derek sat unafraid, unflinching, silent, his hand drumming out a simple one-two beat above his knee cap. 

The large knot in Stiles's chest unraveled, loosening one loop at a time. He took in a deep breath, deep enough his eyes burned at the corners. He tried again and the clutch around his throat eased.

Derek's fingers continued going _tap, tap, tap_ on Stiles's knee.

Pressure sitting on the base of Stiles's throat fled with what felt like an audible _pop._

Derek continued tapping.

"Alright," Stiles exhaled. "I'll stop."

Derek awkwardly patted his shoulder again in some feeble attempt to convey an 'attaboy'. 

"Oh God," Stiles muttered. "You're becoming a pod-person too." 

"What?" Wow, it was impressive how many levels of irritation Derek could convey with one word.

Stiles snorted. He straightened up, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Nothing. There go a couple of hundred bucks. But please tell me Scott and Isaac are not burning that stuff in my room at least."

"Of course not," Derek growled.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, Stiles caught Derek yanking his phone out to hurriedly type out a text one-handed. Stiles gulped back a whimper.

Done, Derek studied Stiles. He grunted, satisfied with whatever he saw.

"Thirsty?" Derek asked gruffly.

Stiles smiled faintly. "You got any soda?" He tracked Derek as he wordlessly got up to cross the loft to a red cooler on the floor. He swallowed as his eyes followed Derek back to the couch.

When the soda can was extended out to him, Stiles paused from taking it.

"You sure about this?" Stiles asked with a lump in his throat.

" _We're_ sure," Derek told him.

Stiles took the soda. He smiled tiredly as Derek dropped down next to him and cracked open his beer to drink. Stiles rolled the can between his hands once, twice. He savored the coolness seeping into his palms. He smiled, found it wasn't as hard to do as before. He tipped his can in salute towards Derek before he finally allowed himself a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this ficlet was a Word Battle response for a birthday. The prompt for this fandom was "herbs". 
> 
> Feedback are like cookies. I _like_ cookies! LOL.


End file.
